


A Good Team in the Sky

by Suzzz



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, actually you know what i'm gonna include everyone because i can and i want to, it'll be a while before they're introduced though, klance, man this movie is more painful than i remembered it, minor character death maybe, oh and swearing sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzzz/pseuds/Suzzz
Summary: “And then the glowing stopped and you stopped floating. I almost dropped you down a mineshaft.”


“My hero,” Keith deadpans, and Lance snorts.
“I’ll have you know it was very heroic, but that’s not the point. The point is,” his eyes are practically sparkling, “I think your necklace is magic.”
A Klance Castle in the Sky au, in which Keith takes Sheeta's place and Lance takes Pazu's. A dead civilization, flying, magic, ancient robots and superweapons - how could I not do this, honestly.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, friends! It seems the only thing more powerful than my executive dysfunction is my love for klance and ghibli movies combined. I'll try to update this at least every other week and finish it before season 2 is released, but I am a student and this is my first fic so we'll see. Later chapters will be longer than this opening one.
> 
> I chose these roles for the boys because I felt that Pazu's place in his community fits Lance best, and we know that Keith has ~mysterious~ heritage. I've had to flip and tweak some things to stay true to the characters, so don't expect this to follow the movie exactly. I hope you enjoy reading!

This story begins with the sounds of rushing wind, propellers beating, and one triumphant cackle. Dola signals gleefully and runs down to the hangar. A man is already waving the flags for take-off, her crew gathering around with goggles tightened and guns at their hips. Two to a flaptor, they pour out and snap into formation.

Their target is a rich people sort of vessel, not very maneuverable, light bouncing off dresses and jewelry in the observation deck. Tempting. These fine folk are lucky though, she thinks, pulling alongside to sneer in the windows.

Tonight, she’s after real treasure.

~ ~

_BANG!_

The ship shudders again. Keith keeps his chin up, fists clenching the edge of his chair. By now anything that wasn’t nailed down lies strewn across the floor, the only person in sight – that fucker in the brown suit – clutching the doorframe with one hand, pistol in the other, sharply dispensing commands. 

Keith is vibrating with tension. He should be _out there_ , should be fending off the pirates; he knows these men don’t give a damn about bystanders. If only he had his knife –

“Must you always make such dreadful faces?” Apparently done giving orders, the man steps inside. The door clicks shut at his back, muffling a cacophony of shouts and gunfire into eerie background noise. 

Keith glowers with renewed intensity.

Fingers twitch around the pistol but brown suit controls himself. He turns and crosses the room, reaching a chest strapped to the wall just in time to grab on as everything quakes, and pops the latch. Leaning in to work what looks like a radio, he spares Keith a look – 

“Behave, and you won’t get hurt.” 

– and then he’s tapping away at the machine, three short taps, three long, three short again, twisting knobs and listening intently. It’s a task that requires both hands and all of his attention.

Slowly, silently, Keith releases his grip on the chair.

~ ~

“FUCK.” Ignoring a scandalized chorus of _‘Mother’_ , Dola swears, kicking Muska’s unconscious body for emphasis. Bested by a child with an empty wine bottle; the sight’s almost worth the trouble of that little brat’s escape. 

…Almost. “Find him, do you hear me? I want that crystal!”

“Yes Ma’am!”

~ ~

Keith presses as close to the ship as possible, shivering, hair and clothes whipping in the wind. He can’t look down. Instead, he focuses on the light from the next window and on his own shaking fingers, inching painfully along.

When the door had started to shake and rattle he knew he had to go, and there was exactly one escape: out the window. He’d only paused to secure his grandmother’s necklace back at his own neck. Why the hell so many people want it, Keith really needs to know, but that’ll have to wait until he’s not being chased by fucking _pirates_. 

Suddenly there’s shouting and the window Keith was aiming for slams open, making way for two scruffy heads. Hunched against cold metal, he makes several seconds of horrified eye contact. They disappear. They do a double-take. 

“He’s here! Mom, he’s here! He was hiding!”

“Hurry up and catch him!”

Hands shoot forward, just barely missing him. Keith flinches – his foot slips – the ship rolls and slides under his fingers as a voice cries out, something about a crystal – 

Keith screams, reaching out to nothing, and the clouds swallow him whole.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured I'd add this, since it's been done for a while. Lance's pov is way easier to write than Keith's. Once again, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I promise there will be actual klance in the next update ;)

Lance drops his thermos on the counter with a _clang_ and cranks his smile up as bright as possible as all eyes in the tiny shop land on him. “Two meatballs, please!”

“Sure, Lance. Working overtime?” The man currently ladling warm meatballs raises his eyebrows. Lance leans in on his elbows and shrugs.

“The boss says business might finally be picking up again. Anyway, you know me – diligent, hardworking,” he makes eye contact with a girl in the back and winks, “handsome.” She waves him off good-naturedly, and Lance joins in on the general burst of laughter as he picks up his thermos and leaves.

A few people are up and doing in the street. “Still working?” “Lance, my boy, you’re out late-” “Heading up again?”

“Yep!” Lance waves his free hand as he runs by. 

Soon, he’s out of the town proper, noise fading behind him until there’s just wind, insects, and a faint creak of machinery. It’s not a cloudless night, but there’s enough moon that he doesn’t need a lantern.

There’s a different light, too; something blue, floating down over the mine. Lance squints and picks up his pace, muttering to himself. 

It looks like a body!

He scrambles down toward the mighty hole that is his livelihood, careful not to fall over the edge, and dashes out along scaffolding at the top of the pulley system. The person is just a few feet above him now, and Lance reaches out- wait, _shit_ , the thermos- Lance hurriedly sets his boss’ dinner down behind him, then holds out his arms. 

The person – a boy? dressed in a plain white shirt and brown pants, dark hair floating around his shoulders and still glowing blue – lands softly and hovers over Lance’s outstretched hands. He doesn’t respond to the touch; his eyes are closed, thick eyebrows pinched together so he’s almost pouting in his sleep. He looks… unhappy? Worried?

The light at his neck fades, winks out –

And the boy drops.

Lance yelps but recovers quickly, straining and gritting his teeth. Somehow he manages to get the strange, magic, _heavy_ boy up on the platform with only his feet hanging over the edge. “You’d better be grateful for this,” Lance grumbles, but he’s gentle as he straightens the boy’s collar and tucks his hands by his sides, reaching to brush some hair out of his face –

“LANCE!” Eep. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP THERE? WHAT ABOUT DINNER?”

Lance jumps up and leans over the railing – this platform does have a railing, unlike many fatal drops in the area – and yells back: “BOSS! A-” steam hisses loudly from below but he presses on – “A BOY FELL FROM THE SKY!” Faint swears echo up the mineshaft, with no indication that he’s been heard or understood. He sucks in a breath and tries again. “BOSS! A BOY- FROM THE SKY-” 

He winces at a loud _crash_ ; sounds like Lance Luna is needed down there. Pushing back from the railing, questions pressing uselessly at his tongue, Lance steps around this boy who fell from the sky. He shrugs off his vest, tucks it around the boy’s shoulders – he’s a polite young man, after all – grabs the thermos of meatballs, and scrambles down among the creaking and whistling machines.

He grabs a valve and starts cranking. “Boss, if you’d just listen to me –” More steam, now accompanied by a long, frustrated yell.

“Lance! I need a wrench!”

“Yes, sir!” There’s no time to think on magic in the mines; even the thought is interrupted by a loud clamoring of bells, signaling the end of the shift as his boss grunts and wrestles with another valve. He makes eye contact with Lance, then gives the pulleys a meaningful look.

“I can’t let go.” 

Oh. _Oh._

Lance collects his jaw, nods, and sprints for a cluster of levers by the main hole. “Yes, _sir!_ ”

“You can do this. Just keep calm.” 

“You kidding? I could do this in my sleep! Sir.” His hands are sweating, but he throws a quick finger gun anyway as the machine starts to move under his guidance, shaking the ground. A giant wheel is turning up there by the boy from the sky. His feet still hang off the platform, seemingly undisturbed by the mighty rumbling around him and _wow_ he must be tired, or maybe he’s in some kind of magic sleep–

“HIT THE BRAKES!” _Shit!_

Lance yanks on the levers, thanking all his lucky stars individually as the pulleys all slow to a stop and an elevator car full of miners appears at ground level. Pressing a hand to his heart and sighing in relief, Lance almost misses the tense atmosphere.

“How was it?”

“It’s no use. No silver, not even a trace of tin.” Each voice comes out more sighing than speaking, with much shaking of heads.

“Maybe we should try the mines to the east?”

“Those are even worse than here.” 

Silence. Any last shreds of hope and creativity have left for the evening. “Guess we’ll have to start all over again.”

“Lance, put out the fire; we’re not finding anything tonight. And oil that engine, will you?”

“Got it!” Lance smiles his best smile. No one sees it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone reblogged this on tumblr and tagged it as "really angsty" and I?? did not intend??? I'm so sorry for the sad, please take this as consolation ;u;
> 
> I hope everyone's doing okay this Thanksgiving <3

Keith wakes up to the sound of a trumpet ringing through the morning air. He flops over and groans, burrowing deeper into soft blankets.  
Wait. How is he alive?

Warily, Keith sits up. The weight of his grandmother’s pendant is a surprise and he raises a hand to rub his fingers over the symbol – a favorite calming motion for as long as he can remember. His stress retreats a little. Whoever brought him here, they didn’t steal the necklace, which means he’s not been caught by his kidnappers or the pirates.

Through a window to his left Keith sees green hills that drop abruptly into cliffs, houses clinging to the sheer stone face in a way that looks precarious at best and makes Keith glad to note solid, horizontal earth below the window. There’s a town not far away, radiating dirt roads, and smoke is just beginning to curl from the chimneys. Turning his head, it’s obvious that he’s in someone’s home; books sit in sprawling piles all over the place, and pictures and diagrams cover almost every inch of wall not occupied by shirts and tools hanging from pegs. There’s a brick fireplace, and a wooden ladder just beyond. A kettle steams quietly on a tiny stove.

It’s chaotic, small, and almost overwhelmingly _homelike;_ Keith blinks hard and looks away. His shoes are placed neatly by the bed – the only bed, and a blanket lies crumpled on the floor. Whoever’s home this is, they must have slept there.

The trumpet cuts off, interrupted by fluttering and a boy’s laughter (and God, if that isn’t the prettiest sound he’s heard in a while), then picks up the tune again. Keith slips his shoes on and makes for the ladder.

Squinting, he pushes the trap door up and over; it hits the roof with a satisfying _smack_ of wood on tile. The air is bright and windy, the sound of the trumpet much clearer now, and– Keith jumps and cries out, head abruptly engulfed by flapping wings and soft trills filling his ears. Somehow he keeps his footing on the ladder until this noisy little whirlwind lets him go.

It’s just birds, he realizes, just a flock of doves enjoying the new day; nothing dangerous. They swoop in again and this time Keith laughs, letting them envelop him as the trumpet swells and tapers off.

“Huh. You laugh like a normal person.” Keith opens his eyes. “The name’s _Lance,_ and for a while I thought you might be an angel.” There’s an implication in that tone, something that’s gone over Keith’s head, but it doesn’t feel malicious so he lets it pass. A warm brown hand is extended to him and he takes it, pulling himself up and out onto the rooftop, and the strength of the other boy’s tug makes him stumble, but – “Oh! Sorry- here,” another hand catches his shoulder and sets him upright.

Keith disentangles their limbs and steadies himself, then looks up. “Thanks. For saving me. And for that just now.” The boy’s – _Lance’s_ eyes are a beautiful blue. His smile is blinding.

"No problem! Here," Lance grabs his hands, "this is how I feed them. Hold still." He shakes some seeds into Keith's open palm, and immediately a bird dives in and starts to peck. Its friends are equally interested; they tickle everywhere - feathers brushing his face, clawed feet shuffling around on his shoulders and arms, beaks nudging insistently into his cupped hands. Keith gasps, then huffs in surprised laughter as the grain disappears.

Lance finally lets go, looking pleased with himself, and gestures to his head. "You've got feathers." Holding a lock of hair up for inspection, Keith finds that he does indeed have feathers. He decides he doesn't mind.

“Thanks." He smiles, tucking the hair back into place. "I’m Keith.”

“Keith. _Keeeeith._ " Lance rolls it around on his tongue. "That’s kind of a weird name. Not bad or anything, just – you’re not from nearby, are you?”

“No.” Keith doesn’t elaborate, looking away when Lance quirks an eyebrow. Time to change the subject. “How did I survive?”

“You don’t… remember?” Keith shakes his head.

“I know I fell from an airship” – Lance hisses softly – “but after that, nope. Nothing.”

“Keith, you floated down from the sky. Like people float in water, but – _flying._ Up there.”

Keith stares. He _definitely_ doesn’t remember that. Lance hums in thought, biting his lip, and then his face is just inches from Keith’s.

“I think it’s this.” He taps the stone hanging from Keith’s neck.

Keith raises an eyebrow. “My necklace?”

“Yeah.” Flashing a grin, Lance continues: “It’s beautiful. Anyway, when I caught you last night this thing was glowing. You were so light it was like you weren’t there,” (and Keith definitely does _not_ focus on the implication that this boy has held him in his arms), “and then the glowing stopped and you stopped floating. I almost dropped you down a mineshaft.”

“My hero,” Keith deadpans, and Lance snorts.

“I’ll have you know it was _very_ heroic, but that’s not the point. The point is,” his eyes are practically sparkling, “I think your necklace is magic.”

Keith steps back from that ridiculously bright face, cupping his chin in consideration. This would certainly explain the armed men trying to steal it. Still, he’s had the necklace ever since– well. A long time, anyway, and he’s never noticed anything like this.

He peers down past the edge of Lance’s roof; a lower piece of house juts out several feet below his window, forming something like a brick balcony. Not a long drop, and nothing pointy at the bottom.

“Keith? What are you – no, nonono KEITH-”

Time for a test run.

~ ~

Lance scrambles down – the _normal_ way, not the ‘overconfident magic boy with a death wish’ way, Jesus _Christ_ – to stand over the new hole in his workshop roof. “Are you okay?”

There’s a groan from below. “I’m – _ugh_ – fine. Nothing broken.” Shuffling noises, then: “Sorry about your house. I’ll help you fix it.” Ah yes. The house. One gaping hole, courtesy of Keith.

He sounds genuinely remorseful, though. 

Lance sighs, pressing a hand to his face. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve been putting off work on this part for too long anyway. Hold on, I’m coming down.” Carefully, he turns around and sticks a leg through the hole, feeling around for a foothold. 

The bricks give way. Lance squawks and scrabbles for something to hold onto but it’s no use; down he goes –

“Oof!” 

– directly onto Keith. He jumps back. “Oh my God I’m so sorry are you hurt-”

“I’m _fine._ ” Breaking off his concerned babble, Lance looks up, and there’s humor in Keith's eyes. “Looks like you were wrong about my necklace.” 

Lance huffs indignantly. “You don’t know that. Maybe it doesn’t work unless you’re really in danger.”

“I’m not gonna jump off the actual cliff, Lance.”

“I wasn’t _suggesting_ –” He stops, jerking his arms up in the air. “You busted a hole in my roof!”

Keith’s jaw drops. “You said not to worry about it!” Eyebrow twitching, hands thrown up to mirror Lance’s moments ago, he looks so betrayed that Lance can’t help but laugh.

“I changed my mind.” He stands, ignoring a scandalized gasp from Keith, and continues cheerily: “Anyway! I bet the kettle’s boiling over. Wash up – sink’s over there – and try not to cause any more property damage, magic boy.”

“ _Magic boy?_ ”

Lance cackles as he disappears up the ladder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I know this scene is supposed to establish that the stone only works for Keith, but there just isn't a universe where Lance would pull the roof-jumping stunt and Keith wouldn't, so I'm assuming it only works in truly dire circumstances.
> 
> Thank you so much to the people who commented; you all really made my week!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I changed the rating because there's definitely more blood and explosions in the movie than I remembered. Happy reading, and please let me know if you like it :D

Keith dusts himself off, legs complaining as he gets up from his little pile of bricks. The sink that Lance waved to is across the room, but Keith’s attention is caught by something else: taking up most of this space, the wooden skeleton of an airplane.

He reaches out to touch, but stops himself, the phrase _try not to cause any more property damage_ rattling around in his head. Better not to test Lance’s patience after breaking his house. Still, the plane-to-be has beautiful lines; Keith would love to fly her someday. 

Not that he’ll be around to see it. No need to get Lance and his big smile and his nice, wholesome house caught up in all this – whatever _this_ is. He’ll patch up the roof and go.

Keith turns away, making for the sink like he was told, noticing the flight diagrams and pictures are more concentrated on these lower walls. On the corner of one hangs a pair of goggles and the mental image of Lance strapping them on, whooping ecstatically as he takes to the air has Keith stepping closer.

His eyes fall to the picture. It shows some enormous building partly concealed by clouds, and a banner drawn beneath it reads –

 _‘LAPUTA.’_

How. What.

~ ~

“Hey Keith, come eat breakfast!” Lance cups one hand by his mouth, the other expertly flipping eggs from pan to plate. 

No response.

“Keith. Buddy. Magic man.” He finishes and steps away from the stove. “You alive down there?”

Silence. Lance heaves an exaggerated sigh.

~ ~

Keith’s fingers are rubbing at his pendant, tracing the lines as he stares. 

_‘You must promise never to talk about it, and never to show it to anyone.’_

“Earth to Keith – oh.” Lance hops off the ladder and comes to stand behind Keith. His breath is warm, his tone immediately softer. “My dad took that picture. See,” he points at another photograph to the right, “that’s his airship. ‘Laputa’ is a giant castle that floats in the sky.” 

Keith nods, waiting for the full story, but Lance just squints at him.

“What?”

“Most people are a little skeptical about flying castles.” There’s a bite in his words, something hard and sharp-edged that hadn’t surfaced even when Keith wrecked a piece of his home, and then he’s quiet. Expectant.

“I’m sure they are,” Keith tries, hoping Lance is looking for agreement, but a frustrated noise says he’s wrong. Well, then. Keith’s never been one to talk in circles. “What do you want me to say?”

“Aren’t you skeptical?”

“Not really.” 

“Why?”

“Well,” Keith shrugs, _I trust you not to lie to me._ “Apparently I flew last night, so it’s not that far-fetched.” 

Lance says, “Huh,” and it sounds almost like a laugh, like Keith’s told a joke. He looks down, smiling – a smaller smile than up on the roof, but still smiling. “Thanks.” 

Keith has no time to ask _‘For what?’_ because Lance keeps talking, getting more and more animated as he goes: “So yeah, most people think it’s just a myth, but my dad really saw it. That was the only picture he got, but look, he kept a journal” – Lance is pressing his shoulder to Keith’s, leaning in to give him a good view as he flips each page – “and he made drawings of the whole thing. Here’s one of those, and here” – _flip, flip_ – “he drew what the people might have looked like.”

There’s that same sparkle in his eyes as earlier when he thought the necklace was magic. It suits him, Keith thinks.

He tries to focus back on the journal where Lance is pointing at a sketch of two people: one a young woman framed by long, flowing hair and the other an older man with a mustache, standing regally side by side. “Your father is a good artist.”

“Yeah, he was.” 

Past tense.

The journal snaps shut and Keith opens his mouth to apologize but Lance is already moving, winding up a model plane he plucked from somewhere in the clutter, and when he speaks, that edge hasn’t returned; he just sounds… distant. “Nobody lives there anymore. The legend says Laputa’s full of treasure, but no one believed it. They called him a liar. Being called a _liar_ ” – the model starts to flap, and Lance lets it go – “that’s what killed him.”

The model falls a few feet away, still flapping and clicking mechanically against the floor, and Keith steps over to pick it up. He turns –

And Lance is _grinning,_ hands tucked almost casually in his pockets, raising his eyebrows.

“My dad wasn’t a liar, Keith. I’m gonna prove it. I’ll find Laputa myself.”

~ ~

A creaking, sputtering noise calls their attention to the window. Shielding his eyes from the sun, Lance leans over a desk to peer outside. He whistles. “A car! You don’t see a lot of those around here.” 

Keith inhales sharply behind him. He starts to cast his eyes around the room, looking for something, and Lance frowns. “What’s the matter?”

“Those men are pirates, Lance. They’re the ones who attacked the airship.”

Lance whips his head back around, squinting at the car as it deposits two men and speeds away. Keith was _attacked?_ No, no time to think about that now. He backs up from the window, frown intensifying. “They’re probably after y– what are you doing.” 

Having taken one of Lance’s sharper tools down from the wall, Keith tests the balance, swinging it a couple of times. He looks back at Lance.

“I’ll handle them.”

“Uh, _no,_ you won’t. Pirates carry guns, Keith.”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Again, no! I don’t feel like cleaning your blood off my doorstep!” And that’s… actually a very upsetting image, now that he thinks about it. Lance sets his jaw.

Keith throws up his ‘weapon’-free hand. “You got a better idea?”

“I do, actually! C’mon.”

Thirty seconds and some very heated whispering later, Lance bursts out his front door and past a pirate, Keith in tow. Lance suspects he’s sulking because he can’t stab anyone; there’s no way to be sure with his face hidden under a hat and the collar of Lance’s jacket. They tucked his hair up out of sight, too, still shedding feathers.

“Hey! You there! Wait, just a moment–” They turn, skidding to a halt, and Lance draws himself up and spreads his arms a little to block the pirate’s view of Keith. He smiles. He hopes it’s convincing.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Uh,” the pirate fumbles for words. “Young man, query, would you happen to have seen a little boy around here?” He gestures in a way that’s probably meant to be friendly but just looks awkward. 

Lance purses his lips, squinting up and left as if trying to recall. “Hmm, let me see… oh, yeah!” Smiling again, taking some small, vicious pleasure in the pirate’s hopeful look, he continues: “Yes sir, there are about a hundred little boys in this town. Which one do you mean?” 

The pirate squints. Lance blinks innocently, shifting toward Keith as if that’ll make a difference if mister pirate here gets out his gun. Finally the stranger steps back and tips his hat. 

“Thanks” – he yanks down the brim, spins, and begins to stomp away; practically spits his next words – “for nothing, kid.”

 _Sucker._ “Any time!” Lance chirps, already ushering Keith along. “Bye!”

The two boys sprint down toward the village, now visibly awake and bustling with people, animals, and wooden carts. Wind tugs at their (well, technically Lance’s) clothing as they tear along and gears are turning in Lance’s head – who _was_ that, where are the others, what’s happening – but a breathless laugh catches his attention. Keith is looking at him from the corner of his eye. 

“That… actually was a better idea.” 

Lance waggles his eyebrows and grins (genuinely, this time).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that bit with the journal was a cameo of allura and coran.
> 
> Sorry to drop you all off mid-chase scene! I'll try to have the next piece done soon and get them to relative safety.


End file.
